


They All Want What I've Got

by MintSauce



Series: The Halfway House [24]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Slight Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night was all going so well, until it wasn't. Ian would say he'd work on his jealousy, except... he really didn't want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They All Want What I've Got

**Author's Note:**

  * For [closetfanficwhore](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=closetfanficwhore).



> So this is for closetfanficwhore who commented on my last fic. That one wasn't going to end the way you wanted, so I decided to write this one out for you real quick instead! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Fun fact: the name of drinks in this fic are inspired by the bar in my roommate's home town, The Goat's Toe. They're all named after dead celebrities. The Jimmy Hendrix is the best one!

“What do I have to bargain with this time?” Ian asks,

“What?” Mickey asks, glancing up from where he’s practicing his shading.

He looks cute, one pencil between his teeth, one in his hand and another behind his ear. Ian doesn’t understand a single thing of what he’s doing really, but he knows Mickey looks cute as fuck while he does it.

“This thing with my co-workers tonight,” Ian explains. “You said you’d go but…”

Mickey shrugs, “So I’ll go. I’ve told you this already.”

Just didn’t know if you were serious.”

Mickey sets his sketchbook aside and stands, ruffling Ian’s hair on his way past to the toilet.

“I was serious, twinkle-toes,” he says. “Go get dressed.”

 

*****

 

The bar is full, but not enough to make Ian’s skin crawl. He keeps half an eye on Mickey, who, typically, made a bee-line straight for the alcohol the minute they arrived.

He talks to Leslie, the new receptionist that Ian’s started talking to when he has a spare minute. She’s a nice girl, not as fake as she seems on the surface. Her temper is wicked too. And even though she doesn’t look it for a second, Ian knows she grew up just a few blocks over from the Gallagher house.

“How’re things going with Mickey?” she asks, who she hasn’t met but in passing, but who she’s heard Ian talk about plenty.

He grins. It feels great, weird but great to hear people ask after Mickey so casually. No ulterior motive needed, they’re just curious, being polite. “He’s good,” Ian says. “We’re good. He’s over there.” He points to where Mickey’s standing, knocking back a shot of whiskey.

Leslie laughs. “Liquid courage, I get it,” she says, tipping her own cocktail back and draining it. “Man after my own heart. Get me another?”

“Sure,” he says. There’s a deal on them and it gives him an excuse to drink _that fruity shit_ as Mickey calls it. He likes the taste sometimes better than hard liquor. Not often, but sometimes.

“Two Jimmy Hendrixes,” he says, leaning against the bar beside Mickey and nudging him with an elbow. “Hey,” he says, smiling when Mickey turns.

Mickey looks good, dressed in one of his few smart shirts. The blue sets off his eyes nicely and the cologne Mickey is wearing just makes Ian want to bury his nose in Mickey’s neck and never surface ever again.

“You on that fruity shit again?” Mickey asks, licking the head of his own beer off the corner of his mouth.

“Yep,” Ian says, grinning. He’s not even sorry. “One’s for Leslie though.”

“Who?”

Ian points and spotting them looking, Leslie waves. She talking to one of the trainers, Aaron and someone Ian doesn’t know.

“I don’t know who the fuck that is,” Mickey mutters, his words only just legible over the noise in the bar.

Ian snorts. “Leslie.”

“Yeah, I got that much, fuckhead.”

He laughs and tugs Mickey close enough to kiss by one of his belt loops. It still startles him sometimes that Mickey lets him do stuff like this in public. Sure, he still tenses just that little bit, but Ian can live with that. He knows how hard Mickey tries and just that is enough.

“You gonna come over?” he asks, no pressure, just putting the idea out there.

“In a bit,” Mickey says.

Ian nods and leaves it at that. He goes to pay the bartender for the cocktails, but Mickey just waves him off. “Put it on my tab,” he says, then rolls his eyes at Ian’s grin. “Fuck off.”

“Here you go, my lady,” he says when he makes his way back over to Leslie.

She grins, blushing a little. “Your man doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s just not great around a lot of people he doesn’t know,” Ian says. “He’ll be over later when he’s had another beer.”

She laughs and then motions to the two people standing opposite. “You know Aaron, right?” she asks.

Ian nods. “How’s it going man?”

“Not bad, got put on that fucking Zumba class at like the ass crack of dawn though,” Aaron says, pulling a face. “You don’t wanna see the size of some of the chicks that come in, it’s mentally scarring.”

That earns him a swift hit from the girl Ian doesn’t know. “Fuck you for fat shaming,” she says, face scrunched up in a scowl. “You should be applauding the fact they’re going to one of your classes. Zumba’s fucking hard!”

Ian likes her already.

“We haven’t met I don’t think,” he says, offering out the hand that isn’t clutching his cocktail.

She shakes her head. “Well, not properly,” she says. “I think you might have ordered a drink off me once. I work in the café downstairs.”

That’s where he’s placed her face before.

She’s a pretty girl, auburn hair piled up in a high, messy ponytail on top of her head. She’s got just the slightest splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, but it’s cute unlike when his all stood out full force. She’s a little on the curvier side, but it suits her, giving her a well-defined shape in all the right places.

Still, he can see why the comment from Aaron would have annoyed her.

“Ahh, awesome,” he says. “How long you been working with us?”

She shrugs. “Only about a month.”

“Shit,” he breathes suddenly. He realises they never did names. “I’m Ian by the way.”

“Nicki,” she replies and points to the bar. “You say that’s your boyfriend?”

Ian grins, he can’t help himself. He follows her line of sight to where Mickey is leaning partially over the bar, hand out to snag the bartenders attention. The fabric of his tight jeans is stretched perfectly over his ass and _fuck_ if Ian can’t wait to get him home and strip him out of them slowly.

“He’s cute,” Nicki comments.

“Yeah he is,” Ian knows his tone is ridiculous, but he can’t help it.

Later, he’ll blame it on the alcohol if questioned.

“How long have you guys been together?” she asks.

Ian loves getting this question. He loves to see the look on people’s faces when he gives the answer. It’s always the shock and then he can just tell they’re trying to work out if he’s lying. “Since my thirteenth birthday pretty much,” he tells her.

Her mouth falls open a little and she can’t seem to help but glance at Leslie. “He serious?” she asks. “You serious?”

“Yup.”

 _“_ Well _fuck_ ,” she laughs. “That’s longer than I’ve been having my period.”

They all laugh, Ian sharing a slight look of disgust with Aaron. He takes a sip of his drink, feels the sugar practically bursting on his tongue, coating the backs of his teeth. He knows he’s probably dying the whole inside of his mouth pink, but he doesn’t care.

He glances at Mickey again, catches his eye and waggles his eyebrow suggestively as he tongues at his straw. Mickey laughs; just a slight movement of his chest and the slow stretch of a smile across his face, but Ian could recognise it from across any room.

He lets the conversation drift away and back to work, to the office gossip and a sports game he didn’t catch. He finishes his drink and sets it on the tray of a passing waitress. He lets himself feel normal, just on a work’s night out with his boyfriend barely across the room.

It’s not something he ever thought would really happen. When he pictured his future as a child, there were never such simple images included like this. He finds he likes it. There’s no weight of expectation in this life, everything just is.

It’s what his family have never really been able to grasp. It’s why he hasn’t spoken to Lip or Fiona in so long. They keep pushing him to do something extra-special with himself, to try and chase Lip’s shadow and his rapidly receding footprints. Ian’s never known how to do that and he’s never been particularly bothered to try.

He’s the middle child, the background piece and he’s finally starting to realise he can be completely fine with that. He’s building his own puzzle to fit into now.

“Hey, Ian,” Nicki taps him later, he doesn’t know how much time has passed. “Looks like someone’s moving in on your man.”

She points over to where Mickey is lounging against the bar. He’s finishing off the last of what is probably beer number four (five?), but that isn’t what the problem is. The guy pressed up beside him is grinning wide, laughing at something Mickey says. He’s got his hand on Mickey’s arm and Ian can see the _fuck me_ eyes from all the way over here.

He’s going over there before he’s aware of his feet moving.

He pulls Mickey backwards, against his chest and away from the fucking dead man smiling at him. Mickey makes a noise of surprise, but relaxes back, instinctively knowing who it is.

“We got a problem here?” Ian asks, staring the other guy dead in the eyes over Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey laughs. “Chill, firecrotch, we’re just talking.”

“You may be talking,” Ian grinds out. “He’s picturing you fucking naked.”

The guy actually has the gall to shrug. “It’s a free country.”

“And he isn’t a free man,” Ian snarls, grip turning bruising on Mickey’s hips. He knows that the second he lets go, he’s going to hit this idiot and he’s rather not cause a scene at his own work’s do.

The guy scoffs, “Why don’t you let him decide that for himself?”

He looks at Mickey expectantly. Mickey who’s face Ian can’t see, but he feels him tense. “Ay, fuck off, man,” he says with no hesitation, hand dropping down to squeeze Ian’s thigh. Who it’s supposed to be reassuring Ian isn’t sure. “I ain’t interested.”

 _Damn right, he isn’t_ , Ian thinks.

“Excuse me?” the guy squeaks, incredulous.

Ian can’t help himself then. He lets go of Mickey and steps in front of him. He presses forwards right into this idiot’s face and just bares his teeth like they’re fucking animals. But maybe they are at the core of it. Basic instincts and all that.

All Ian knows is that everything inside of him is screaming _mine mine mine_.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. It’s probably just the Mickey-effect though.

“I think he said fuck off,” Ian says. “Or you hard of hearing now too as well as fucking stupid?”

The guy scoffs again, throws his hands up like this is all just ridiculous to him. “That ass ain’t even worth it anyway,” he says.

That’s when Ian throws the punch.

It knocks the guy back, into a table. Glass shatters and a drink flies all over some girl, thankfully not one Ian works with.

“The fuck you saying about my boyfriend?” Ian asks, teeth bared again. He can’t help it.

He can feel the raging bubbling through his veins and he’s about to go off like a goddamn volcano. He’s well aware that everyone is watching, all of the people he works with. He’s probably not making a very good impression, but he couldn’t care in the fucking least.

This is about Mickey, Mickey who is _his_. Mickey who would be the best thing to happen to fucking anybody.

Mickey who is behind him, laughing.

“Ay, take it outside, boys,” the bartender says, starting to wave over the bouncers.

Ian just shrugs them off, glaring down at the pussy on the floor. “Don’t worry, this fucker ain’t got the balls.”

And it’s true, because he stays down as Ian stalks out of the bar, Mickey hot on his heels.

Mickey’s still cackling, the sound bouncing off the buildings around them. It would make Ian smile if he wasn’t so fucking angry still. Ian grabs him, slams his back into the nearest piece of brick and presses closer so there’s barely even air between their faces.

Mickey just laughs harder.

“You fucking like him looking at you like that or something?” he asks, shaking Mickey. He can hear Mickey’s teeth clack together, momentarily cutting off the laughter, but he isn’t sorry. “You think a pussy like that could handle you?”

“Fuck no,” Mickey says, grinning.

He isn’t the least bit bothered that Ian has his hands fisted in the front of his shirt. He just grips at Ian’s waist and grins up at him. Like the cat that got the fucking cream, he’s loving every second of this.

Ian slots a leg in between both of Mickey’s roughly. He can feel Mickey’s cock hard against his leg. He’s panting and he probably looks like a fucking idiot, face red and eyes wide. He’s probably being irrational, but he can’t stand to think of anyone touching Mickey but him.

He attacks Mickey’s throat, sucking hard and latching on with his teeth. He pulls back to admire his handiwork, too far gone to even really hear Mickey’s moans. _Let anyone think he isn’t taken now,_ he thinks and makes a matching mark just above the first.

Mickey’s hand in his hair forces their lips together suddenly, teeth clacking in something that’s as violent and needy, as desperate as all those years ago when they first started. When they’d fight until they were bloody, someone else or each other it didn’t matter, and then Ian would tug Mickey’s trousers down until they were around his knees and suck him off until Mickey lost his voice and pounding his fist against the wall behind him.

He’s almost missed this side of their relationship. He’s missed the blood and the laughter ringing in his ears. There’s a sweet bite of nostalgia to the kiss, Mickey sucking on his tongue and grinding against his leg.

Ian loves it.

“Get a fucking room!” someone shouts.

“Fuck off!” Mickey screams back and then there he is, laughing like a maniac again.

**Author's Note:**

> What? You want to spread out a blanket and look for shooting stars next?..... Because we can do that. Just come follow me ;)
> 
> [themintsauce](http://themintsauce.tumblr.com)  
> @BethCottrell


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